Best Nativity Ever!
by burntheheart
Summary: Lestrade has to watch his daughter's nativity. He invites everyone to come watch - well, almost everyone. Certainly, no-one invited the foreign assasins. happyxmaseveryone!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**I wanted to write something especially for the holidays. Also, I always get bored on Christmas Eve.**

**Anyway, I wish you all a very joyful and safe Christmas. **

**If you recognize anything, it's not mine; if you do recognize it, chances are it probably still isn't.**

**All I ask is you enjoy. **

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><p><strong>The Nativity<strong>

_we've all been there._

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><p>It had started as a perfectly normal day. The whole department had been decorated with Christmas decorations and Gregory had moaned at his colleagues for buying a depressing Christmas CD and allowing it to wail through the stereo for the whole day. It had been a plain day at the office. Until, as he was signing several papers for his current case, his wife called to inform him of two things:<p>

It was Abby's – his six year old daughter- nativity play today.

_Crap._

And it was also the day that his wife was to perform four root canal operations.

_Shit. _

Abby had starred in three nativity plays in her young life and Lestrade had disobediently missed all of them. It always collided with the time of the year where cases seemed to magnify in difficulty. The time of the year where the detective inspector barely had enough time to come home and nearly always had to make someone in the office purchase his children's Christmas presents for him. He had _moaned _at his wife and had emphasised, begged, _pleaded _the fact that it was nearly impossible for him to attend.

But Elizabeth Lestrade drew a difficult bargain when it came to her daughter. Greg had been powerless in the end. After kicking a few file cases in his office, he had stepped out and informed his team sternly about a very important _occasion _he must tend to for an hour or so. He had made sure that everything was set in stone so none of them _slacked. _However Greg had allowed his cover to slip and after sharing that it was actually his daughter's nativity that was his emergency – suddenly, his whole team suggested that they _all _go.

And now they were here in his daughter's school hall. Donovan, Anderson and the new transfer, Sebastian Felix. A _bloodcurdling _CD was being played as background music. It was a Christmas one. Lestrade stabbed the screen of his phone feverishly as he sat, Donovan fishing the sit next to him.

"Which character is Abby playing?" Anderson asked curiously.

Lestrade glanced up at the stage before answering the question, "An…angel, I think?"

There was a chorus of "aws" from the three adults that sat by him.

"Where's the missus, sir?" Felix quipped with a grin.

"On her second root canal," Lestrade answered, "according to her last _Facebook _update."

The three resumed conversation as Lestrade sat, glancing around at the various parents with their flashy camera gadgets and eerily joyful smiles. Lestrade never saw the interest in these things – _sure_, sure it was the Nativity. But he didn't need a _play _to tell him that his daughter was fantastic.

Lestrade _knew _that his daughter was fantastic.

"I can't believe Beth managed to drag you in here," Donovan chuckled, knowing she had met Mrs Lestrade a couple of times to know.

"I had to," Lestrade mumbled, rubbing the side of his head vehemently, "I'm pretty sure she'd divorce me otherwise."

Anderson chuckled before giving Felix a nod.

"Trust me," he jested, "he's _not _joking."

Lestrade managed a wolfish grin at that, deciding that perhaps he felt a little better about being here. Because they _understood _his pain. He momentarily pondered on how the festive holiday seemed to change him as a worker. He was nearly eternally calm – that was what made him such a good officer. But when it came to Christmas, all sorts fluctuate. And so did his habitually tested patience.

"Uh, sir. Why is _he _here?"

The inspector's eyes swivelled back and watched as a John Watson wandered down from the door, clearly looking for the huddled group of familiar figures.

"I invited them," He told Donovan firmly.

"_Them_? You invited the Freak _as _well?"

"Of course," Lestrade answered, voice whispering as John lifted a hand to wave as he recognized them, "_we _need them for the case."

"Oh, _falalalafun_." Donovan hissed lowly, as John approached – smile stretched across his features politely.

Deciding that at least one should be civil, Lestrade passed the doctor a kind and thoughtful nod of greeting.

"John," he greeted, "glad to see you."

"And you… all." John smiled, blinking at the faces that seemed to greet him rather _unwelcomingly. _Donovan's eyes were basically slits.

He used to be frightened; now it was almost amusing.

"Where's the Freak, _doctor_?" Donovan quipped, arching a dark brow.

"I… I don't know actually," John answered sheepishly, "but he should be here soon." Shedding off his winter coat, he slung it over to cover his chair.

It was acceptable to note that everyone's expressions changed a little once they saw the magnificently festive jumper that John was sporting. It was red and green – complete with the reindeers, Santa Claus _and _a mistletoe pattern dotting the very bottom.

"Pretty jumper," Anderson cooed teasingly.

"Nice haircut," John jested back, watching as the forensics specialist's hands flew to his head self-consciously.

The haircut that John was referring to had been the subject of _all _jokes the past month. Lestrade did not normally contribute to the banter that all of his team seemed to jab at each other, but Anderson's haircut had _begged _for it the moment he came into the office.

"Well, he better come soon," Lestrade nodded, glancing casually at the time, "The nativity's going to start in about five minutes."

"Ah, which character is Abby going to play?"

"An angel."

"Aw," John commented sweetly, "I can't wait. I haven't seen one since my own actually."

"I was Joseph in mine," Felix offered with a small flicker of childish pride.

"A star," Donovan muttered, finding the need to contribute irresistible.

"I was a wise man!" Anderson chirped.

John couldn't help but feel that Anderson's sentence would have made Sherlock laugh.

Rubbing his temples fitfully, Lestrade realized that some of the parents were beginning to take pictures of the stage. He couldn't help but glance at Donovan in an almost concerned manner.

"Do you think Beth would want me to take photos?" He asked her, searching for an honest answer.

The fact was that Lestrade owned a _Blackberry_ (a phone which according to Charlie – his eldest son – was the _sickest _phone in the universe). And he had no idea how to operate everything parting from the call button.

"I'll do it." Anderson nodded, taking out his camera from his briefcase reliantly, "Just got to delete some of these… photos."

Seeing the flashes of dead bodies and bloody images being deleted off the screen, Lestrade glanced away and simply eyed the stage.

It was going to be a _very _lengthy afternoon.

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><p>John was enjoying the show very much. It was <em>adorable<em>, to say the least but he could tell that the children were enjoying it which was always a good thing. He had never liked kids much – thus why paediatrics never proved a contender when he was choosing his speciality. However, he had to say that these kids were doing a damn good job of doing everything. Even _if _one of the stars did look about ready to burst into tears.

Lifting his head as John tried to locate which exactly was Lestrade's daughter, his eyes fell on the empty seat beside him. God. He had been so intrigued by the play that he had forgotten that Sherlock wasn't here yet. Head rotating to spot the detective, in case he couldn't see them, the man scowled as a woman behind him _glared _at his swivelling neck.

"Sorry," he apologised briefly as he tentatively eyed his phone.

No messages. _Why_ – there was a loud _slam. _

The moment the slam came_, _John really should have realized that it could only be Sherlock. He glanced up and watched as the curly haired man straggled into the aisle and looked around the den of seats. People's eyes had turned around to watch him. Fortunately, the show had remained unperturbed.

"Oh, _damn_," Donovan drawled bleakly, "I _almost _thought my Christmas wish had come true."

Lifting up from his seat, John began to wave his hands to catch Sherlock's attention. Fortunately it had and the curly haired man began to manoeuvre towards his row of chairs.

"He's here." John hissed – inexplicably loudly – to Lestrade who nodded, red-faced.

"I can see." The inspector responded, shaking his head as he massaged his temples palely.

"What the hell _happened_ to him?" Anderson gawped, referring to the fact that the detective was limping as he hopped through the row, forcing all the people to stand and to allow him through.

John, a little flustered, blurted out a couple of hushed apologies as people began to murmur around them. It was probably not the best time to mention that they weren't even _related _to anyone here.

Deciding not to talk anymore, John watched as Sherlock collapsed onto the seat he had saved for him. It was here that the darkness of the hall seemed to wither away and he realized something _breathlessly _important. The row of police specialists in front of them had also turned, watching Sherlock wheeze through his chest with arched brows.

"Is that… is that a _cut _lip?" Felix blinked widely as John spotted something rather peculiar.

"Sherlock," he nudged the other, eyeing the detective's slightly disoriented eyes, "…what the _hell _happened to your sleeve?"

His left shirt sleeve had been _completely _ripped off.

The curly haired man's lips parted slightly to answer. But then, the door slammed _open _again and this time the _whole _theatre heard. It was enough to prompt a few gasps around the people at the front.

"Oh, what have you done _now_?" John rasped rather painfully as three or so _masked _men entered the pitch black hall, holding _machetes._

Cue, the _screams_. People began to jump up from their seats and as humans did, pushed each other hysterically to the walls in a dry attempt to find the exit.

"Someone call the _police_!"

Well, _technically_ police was here.

John's eyes dashed to Lestrade instantaneously who had already withdrawn his gun and was approaching the mad dash of well –

_Ninjas. _

Donovan was on the phone. Anderson looked petrified. Felix looked a hundred percent ready to kick arse.

"Do you see what happens when you invite _Freaks_ sir?" Donovan hissed abrasively as she shuffled after him.

The detective inspector hobbled tentatively towards the three, uniformed men. He had glanced at the stage to make sure that Abby was _definitely _not in danger before approaching. God. _For Pete's sake._

This was a Nativity! A _Nativity. _He was already suffering from all sorts of health troubles. This was _not _making his already stressful day any easier. Amidst the haze of confusion was restlessness.

Greg Lestrade had always found danger somewhat interesting. This was _very _interesting.

But unnecessary.

"Put your weapon down!" He yelled over the still, inhospitable cries of the parents around him, "Down!"

One of the masked men quirked his head at Lestrade's face.

And dropped his machete. For a few seconds, all seemed well until the man wandered forwards and _punched _Lestrade straight in the nose.

Of course after _that_, it was pure _carnage._

Lestrade's instinctive response was to punch the bloke back. It was his bar-brawl days returning as he took a swing and the masked man collapsed into the floor.

It was almost movie-like.

"John, for god's sake _help_!" Anderson screamed as the three men suddenly became six and flooded through the hall. Most of the parents had fled through the fire exit.

It was just a doctor, a passed out detective, a pissed off inspector, two moody sergeants and _Anderson_.

God bless them all. Yelling primitively, John left Sherlock's side and quickly joined in the action. The seemingly-foreign ninjas seemed perfectly happy to do this all _without _their sharps. Unfortunately for John, they were pretty good with their punches.

"Where the _hell _is your BACK UP!" John shrieked, ducking as the man's arm poised itself over his head.

"Backed up!" Donovan screeched back, "God! I haven't done this since the _academy_!"

Stumbling backwards, John found himself mounting on the stage.

And then he tripped.

His bum consequently fell on and _crushed _the manger.

Taking one of the shepherd's staves that had been left on the surface of the stage, he quickly recovered and began to _smack _the masked stranger on the shoulder. Except it was more like _poking. _

"Get… away from me!" the doctor screeched, inwardly deciding that Sherlock was going to be _dead _after this. If he wasn't dead already.

Taking swings and jabs at random directions, it never occurred to the doctor that he was slowly destroying the set. His long stave then beheaded one of the plastic sheeps and the reality collided with him.

Eyes glancing around at the damage, the man expressed a small hum of frustration.

"C'moooooon, where's the police... when you need it," the doctor chanted, shifting his weight on both heels.

Suddenly he realized that it wasn't movie-like at all. Because in movies, there was _never _that many injuries. And the heroes rarely ran around shrieking like Anderson was doing.

"I'm a bit _busy_!" the forensic specialist growled as he tried to fight off _two _masked assassins who seemed to have targeted him as the weakest.

John really tried not to laugh. He shouldn't. They could all be dead in five minutes. But he could only say one thing:

God bless Anderson.

If they live through this (which seemed a little unlikely at the moment), John had officially found respect for the bloke. Of course by admitting this, John had released his guard.

His body was throttled to the floor as the assassin gripped and squeezed the side of his throat. Choking, the doctor's eyes were beginning to fill up with pained tears until the mask man's grip disappeared.

Sherlock's pale face surfaced instead.

He was holding the headless body of a wax cow.

"All these assassins are for _you_!" was the first thing John managed as he got up, tone flustered as he pushed away the body of the passed out ninja, "_how _badly did you piss them off?"

"Very, badly," Sherlock responded with a small smile, "you alright?"

"Good. How's..."

There voices were drowned by the sound of police sirens. _Relief._

It was then coupled by the sound of Lestrade swearing loudly as he was kicked in a rather, _sensitive _area.

"Oh," John blinked, watching the detective inspector _bounce _at one of the masked assassins attempting to kill him, "You _do _know that this was a children's nativity play right?"

Sherlock blinked.

"You were serious about that?"

John blinked, lamely.

"Oh god, Sherlock," the doctor shook his head, "Lestrade is going to _kill _you."

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><p><strong>an** - **second installment tomorrow. hope you liked.**

**it was completely random. too much eggnog methinks.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

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><p>The damage was extensive. And it wasn't just the <em>scenery <em>damage - physical, and _mental _damage was also rather extensive. John stood, glancing around him, looking a little bewildered if anything. Fortunately, he hadn't suffered much - due to Sherlock's quick instinct when it came to the masked man who had tried to strangulate him - but he still had ripped clothes. Well - a ripped _jumper._

His holiday jumper was _ripped. _Great. Sarah was going to be ridiculously angry, after all she _had _bought it for him. John knew that his current girlfriend was rather pissy when it came to _gifts_.

Ah, well. He would just have to explain that it was the assassins' fault. _Certainly_, hadn't been him.

How long do we have to stay here?" John asked, stretching numb hands as he glanced at Sherlock who was sat on the floor, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"Not long," he responded quietly, "well, perhaps for _you_."

John managed a tired smile.

"Well, you _did _lead a murderous band of syndicates to a children's _nativity._" The doctor answered ruefully as Sherlock glanced up and quirked his head.

"Not on purpose," the curly haired man muttered, "I genuinely believed I had lost them."

"Why were they chasing you anyway?"

"Not important," Sherlock shrugged coolly, "I've become rather used to it anyway."

Their conversation was cut short as Lestrade's figure became clear in the doorway and approached them. The detective inspector's face looked a _lot _less livid now than when he had first spoken to them an hour or so ago.

He walked up to them, holding an ice-pack to his head with one hand while the other, held the small hand of his daughter's. He looked up and grunted as a primary greeting.

"Evening, Abby," John greeted the young girl sheepishly, just passing Lestrade a rather pained smile.

"Hullo Dr John," the small girl beamed before quirking her head, "_Oh_, your jumper!"

"I know." The man stated with a sad huff as his eyes eventually drew back to Abby's - clearly uncomfortable father.

Considering the _kicking _he recieved, John imagined that it wasn't just Lestrade's head that was aching.

"John, you're free to go," Lestrade mumbled lowly as his eyes flickered towards Sherlock who looked up wearily in greeting, "You, not yet."

"How's Anderson?" John asked, knowing that the man hadn't looked _well _the last time he saw him. The forensic specialist had been scrambling around on the floor when the police burst in. He had _two _masked fugitives after him - John was surprised he managed to keep away from any permanent _facial _damage considering the _mauling _he recieved.

"Alive," Lestrade responded nodding his head faintly, "Might give him a day off though; poor bloke's talking to himself."

Sherlock chuckled a little. John cleared his throat stiffly, knowing that wasn't exactly _funny_.

"You... you alright, Lestrade?" the doctor then inquired, teeth gnashing together as Lestrade eyed him blankly.

"Been better," the other man answered quietly, glancing down at his daughter, "but as long as the _ninjas _-" Abby giggled a little, swinging her father's hand, "...have been caught... then it's all been... worth it."

"Ninjas!" Abby then intruded, grinning from ear-to-ear actively, "_Did _you see them Dr John! Daddy was _fighting _them!"

"You _saw _them?" John asked, blinking widely.

"Yeah. I hid behind to wait for Daddy," Abby said, a little shame-faced as she passed her father an apologetic smile, "It was _so _cool thoooough! And I saw _you _Dr John! You..." a small pink blush formed on the girl's cheeks, "_crushed _our manger!"

John redded instantaneously.

"And... destroyed our sheep! _And _fell into our barn! _And _broke Jared's sheep-stick-thingy!"

Lestrade managed a tired chuckle as he patted Abby's halo. "That's enough now, Abby. I'm sure Dr John didn't _mean _it."

"Oh no, I'm sure he didn't!" the small girl nodded, "but Aunt Sally said it was _hilarious_."

Donovan, it was fair to say had escaped the ordeal with the most benign of injuries. She was barely _touched. _If that wasn't a sign of female empowerment, John didn't know what was. It reminded him not to ever pick a fight with her - no matter how drunk he was.

As John opened his mouth to peruse the matter, a figure appeared by the open door just to the right of them. It was the young girl's head that turned first - and then Lestrade. John watched as the inspector cursed a rather spiteful cuss beneath his breath as Abby ran down the corridor and shrieked,

"Mummy!"

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><p>"Oh, sweetheart," Elizabeth Lestrade wandered up the corridor, eyes narrowed in confusion at the state of her husband. "Abby," she gave her daughter a bright smile as her eyes glanced up at her husband and gave him the "<em>we'll talk later<em>" gaze.

John passed the woman a polite hand wave while Sherlock, sat still thoughtful - his gaze boring into the chestnut flooring.

"There... were police...tape... I -" the woman rambled as she emitted a loud sigh at her husband's ice pack, "_are_ you okay?" Maternally, she reached out a hand and inspected the bruise concernedly.

"Long story," Lestrade muttered with a small breath as he shook his head, "I think we should take Abby home."

His eyes glanced back at John, and then flicked gravely at the meditating detective.

"I'll call you tomorrow - _him_," Lestrade waved it off, looking simply like he'd had _enough_, "Silverson case. I'm sure... Sherlock's clearance won't be long. He just... has to explain why the bandits were after him."

"Bandits?" Elizabeth gawped. Lestrade noted that his wife's jaw seemed to have fallen.

He felt his temples throb. Oh _goodie._

"Liz, let's... talk about it on the way home yes?"

"But -" the woman just clamped her lips shut and began to wander down the corridor with her husband, turning briefly to give John a polite hand of goodbye.

"Oh, _Abby_," she glanced down affectionately at her daughter's adorable costume, "did you enjoy your Nativity? Sorry Mummy couldn't make it sweetie."

Clearly, she still didn't understand that the police cars were here _for _the Nativity. Lestrade's migraine was certainly not permitting him to correct her. It seemed far safer to allow for the woman to think that the Nativity took place.

It did, for about twenty minutes or so.

"Oh yes!" the girl clucked joyfully, grabbing her dad's hand again, "It was the _best _Nativity ever!"

"Good," her mother chuckled, glancing up at her unsettled looking husband with a relatively impressed smile, "wow - that's -"

"Daddy fought _ninjas!_" Abby blurted out, happily oblivious.

Elizabeth's smile fell. Greg swallowed.

Ninjas; she certainly hadn't seen them in any of the three Nativities she had attended. Her eyes mockingly wandered over to Lestrade's - whose eyes seemed to have made it a mission to avoid her gaze as long as possible.

"Did, he now?" she quipped, smile stretching mockingly, as she glanced at her husband bitterly, "Did you _fight ninjas_, sweetheart?"

"_Yep_!" Abby stated happily, "and one of them... kicked him in... the _marbles_."

The girl erupted out into a fit of giggles, concealed only by the hand that she had slapped over her lips.

"In _his_ marbles," her mother repeated giving her crimson-faced husband a soft nudge. The disdainful grin on her lips immediately faded as she found her daughter's giggles to be far more empowering.

She found herself smiling too.

It was here that she noticed that he was limping ever-so-slightly. She pressed her lips together and shook her head, suppressing the urge to laugh as best as she can.

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><p>John watched as the family departed. He was free to go too. But somehow, he felt the need to wait for Sherlock anyway. It would be interesting to see how Sherlock explained the whole incidence to the officers - perhaps that was why he stayed.<p>

There was also the matter that he had forgotten the house keys at Sarah's. Leaving without Sherlock seemed a little bit futile. He would have to disturb Mrs Hudson - something that wasn't a good idea when the _soaps_ were on.

Glancing down, he realized that the detective was on his phone.

"_Oi_, you're in trouble," John teased, "no phone privileges."

"I was looking for dinner, actually," Sherlock retorted with a pressed smirk, "I'm starving."

"_Oh_," the doctor couldn't argue with that. He nodded before pressing his back to the wall and sliding down to join his flat mate onto the floor.

Huddled in silence for a few seconds, John's eyes swivelled towards Sherlock curiously.

"So," he commented curiously, "ever did the Nativity at your school?"

A rather offended expression brewed on Sherlock's face.

"_God_ no," he responded facetiously, shaking his head, "Acting never appealed to me."

"Oh," John blinked, "well... you _must _have at some point." He was under the impression that _everyone _had done a nativity play. Even if one had been casted into the most insignificant role.

"Never," Sherlock affirmed before narrowing his eyes in remembrance and playfully glancing back at John, "However, I _distinctly _recall that Mycroft has."

The doctor arched a brow at the gleeful expression that had formed on Sherlock's face.

"Really?" the man pressed his lips together to conceal a large smile, "what was he?"

"Mary."

"_No_."

"Yes."

John clamped a hand over his stomach as he burst out laughing. Sherlock, upon hearing the laughter, was soon infected and joined in the childish hysteria.

"B-B-But... _why_?" John blurted out, managing to compose himself.

"It should be worth mentioning that it _was _an all-boy's school," Sherlock remarked with a slightly sombre expression, "Female roles still had to be played."

"But _still_." John stated, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Exactly."

"_God_," the doctor took a deep breath and wiped a bemused tear that had formed at the corner of his eye. He then glanced at the other man and asked, "Sherlock?"

"Yes?" Sherlock turned to him, attentively.

"Let's never go to a children's nativity again." John announced, face still pink from laughter, "Agreed?"

"Agreed." Sherlock affirmed, "They're boring anyway."

A small silence ensued as John stretched out his hands and listened to the soft, humdrum of traffic outside. It took him a moment to realize that Sherlock was staring at him.

"Lestrade's daughter was right." The detective retorted simply.

"What?" John inquired, baffled.

"Your _jumper_," Sherlock murmured, arching his head as he scrunched his nose, "it's _hideous_."

"She didn't say it was hideous!"

"Oh," Sherlock blinked, "well... it is."

"_Thanks_."

"You're welcome."

"That was sarcastic, you _bastard._" John commented, knowing inwardly that he agreed as he expressed a chuckle, and quirked his head to glance at Sherlock's face.

They both exchanged warm smiles.

"I can't wait for Christmas, can you?" John quipped, sighing nostalgically as he eyed the other man.

"Of _course_ not," Sherlock stated dryly, "after _this _debacle; I'm just _brimming _with Christmas spirit."

"Oh." John blinked.

"That was sarcastic, you _bastard_." Sherlock remarked back, with a shake of the head.

Another array of laughter ensued. John wasn't sure how long they laughed in the end.

It wasn't until Sherlock was laughing longer than him that it occured to him that the detective was mildly concussive. About to point this out, John had found that Sherlock had fallen asleep on the floor - head pressed onto the wooden table that was positioned beside him.

Rubbing his eyes, John took a breath. He smoothed the front of his jumper and glanced at the dozing body of the detective.

"I suppose I should _stay_," he muttered, crossing his arms playfully as a smile tugged at the sides of his lips, "_just _in case there are any more assassins after you."

The detective mumbled something, clearly still sleeping. John took that as a thank you.

"No problem Sherlock," he said with a soft smile, "I've become used to it too."

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><p><strong>AN:**

**I thought that would never end. Goodness! But yes. Thanks for reading.**

**I hope you had a good Christmas. See you in the New Year for 01x02. Can you wait? I seriously can't. **

**Laterzz, guys. (if you haven't seen the online previews, you must!)**


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